Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Whatever the case, that moment of almost getting caught had felt like a bucket of ice water to the face. I’d cursed myself the rest of that night, given in and fucked my hand to the thought of her in the shower, and then cleansed myself of her as best I could with a long yoga and meditation session the next morning.
It may have been futile, trying to erase her completely, but at least I could mute her magic enough to think a bit more clearly.
Now, it was the last preseason game of the season, and if anything had helped me regain my focus, it was the fast-approaching date of our first regular season game.
This was it. Year two in the NFL.
And I had a lot to prove if I wanted to stay here past my rookie contract.
I had my headphones on in the locker room, my pregame playlist thumping in my ears as I wrapped my left ankle. My teammates moved around me — taping, smearing eye black under their eyes, some laughing and joking around, others locked in and focused with their own headphones on. There wasn’t quite the same pressure with a preseason game as a regular season, but that was really only true for those of us who knew our spots were safe.
There were rookies here desperate to cement their spot, and I could feel the energy wafting off of them — nervous and excited and ready to prove themselves.
My phone buzzed on the bench next to me, and I swiped my thumb across the screen, unsurprised to find the group chat I had with the guys popping up. Only this time, it wasn’t a text — but an alert that Holden had started a video chat within the group.
I clicked the button to join, Holden’s face popping up first before the rest started filing in one by one.
It was a tradition we’d started when Holden went pro the year before the rest of us did. He’d graduated a year ahead of us and went off to North Carolina while the rest of us played our final year at NBU. Before every game, we got him on a video chat to check in and see how he was feeling — and more than anything, to razz him and make him laugh a little bit.
Nothing helped you play better than loosening up, and a video chat with your best friends was the perfect way to achieve it.
The screen was full within a minute. Holden was suited up for the preseason game he was about to play across the country. Clay and Leo were both in casual clothes, each at their respective houses since their preseason games were the following day. Zeke and Riley were cozied up on their couch together, a bowl of popcorn in Riley’s lap. And Kyle was on the table with a member of our training staff in a nearby room getting soft tissue work on his hamstring, his goofy grin filling the frame with the fluorescent light bright above his head.
I smiled, staring at my friends, my teammates, my family.
Life had taken us in so many different directions, but we somehow always made time for each other.
“Last week of preseason!” Clay whisper-yelled. He wore a sleeping Atlas on his chest and headphones covering his ears. Giana walked through the camera frame behind him with a wave before she disappeared again. “How we feeling, boys?”
“Ready for this shit to be over,” Leo grumbled immediately. “Preseason games are fucking boring. I hate riding the bench.”
“Speak for yourself,” Holden said, adjusting the strap beneath his chin. “Some of us quarterbacks are still out here trying not to die behind second-string offensive lines.”
Kyle snorted. “You’re dramatic.” On cue, he winced as the athletic trainer dug into his hamstring.
“Baby,” I teased.
He flicked the camera off.
“None of you have ever had a three-hundred-pound man launch himself at your ribs,” Holden shot back.
“That might be the one plus side of not being in the NFL,” Riley cut in from the couch beside Zeke. “Not sure I’d love to witness that up close.”
“No, we get to witness the wrath of teenage girls, instead.” Zeke shivered. “Might be worse, honestly.”
Riley smirked and tossed a piece of popcorn at his head.
“Where’s Daddy? Er — I mean, Mary?” Kyle asked with a grin.
Leo rotated the camera, showing a sleepy-looking Mary with her hair piled on top of her head sketching something on his leg.
“Please tell me you’re not getting a fucking tattoo right now,” Clay said. “You have a game tomorrow.”
“Preseason game,” Leo reminded us. “Not like I’ll be playing much.”
Out of frame, Mary chimed in. “Like I’d let him ruin one of my masterpieces by not following proper aftercare instructions.” She scoffed. “I’m just bored.”
“So you’re drawing on him?” Clay asked?
“Yup!”
We all shared looks before Zeke shook his head. “That woman keeps you alive.”